


Till The End

by HauntedHotdog



Category: Child's Play/Chucky (Movies)
Genre: Body Horror, Chucky is deceptive, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, F/M, Horror, Murder, Rating will change, Reader is a little dense, Size Difference, Takes place directly before "Curse of Chucky", alcohol consumption, depictions of gore, lying, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22182811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HauntedHotdog/pseuds/HauntedHotdog
Summary: " It takes you a moment to register fully what this splayed out before you, and nothing could have prepared you for it. It's a human — almost human head. Severed, yet still writhing; what appears to be brain matter, shiny and red, bulging exposed flesh that looks so painfully grotesque as it gleams under the dingy kitchen light. Your stomach sours and churns, bitter bile bites at the base of your esophagus and you stumble backwards into a nearby end table you hadn't noticed beforehand. With a loud THUD your legs give out and your clamoring backwards as quickly as you can......You knew it. You should've minded your own business, noises from other people's apartments should never be something you should've concerned yourself with, you certainly shouldn't have fucking investigated either. "A favor for your neighbor turns into a nightmare, and a major lesson in minding your own business.
Relationships: Andy Barclay & Chucky | Charles Lee Ray, Chucky | Charles Lee Ray/Reader, Chucky | Charles Lee Ray/You, Mentions of Glen/Glenda, Mentions of Tiffany
Comments: 63
Kudos: 143





	1. Favor

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Out With a Bang](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16744789) by [pennywife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennywife/pseuds/pennywife). 



  
Your apartment. It was shitty, but it was your own. Paint peeled more than it should, the ceiling a bit leaky, and once or twice you might've seen a mouse scurry by, 

But for rent this cheap...and in Chicago?...  
  
You could pretend you didn't see the furry grey silhouettes out of your periphery, pretend you didn't hear your neighbors screaming through the thin, cracking drywall and you could convince yourself to drown out the wailing sirens of barely distant cop cars at night with your headphones. Well, because if you were honest, rent this cheap was all you could afford.  
  
All those grievances seemed minor in comparison to the only thing really, _truly_ that had been bugging you recently. 

Your weirdo neighbor.  
Andrew.  
  
Andrew moved in extremely quickly and with barely any furniture or personal belongings, and if that wasn't suspicious enough you never even saw a moving van; he slipped in quietly with no friends, no moving team, nothing - _nada!_ Just one day, there he was.  
  
You couldn't help but let your mind wander to all the worst places. You worried that he was some drifter, or that he'd convert the small apartment into a drug den or traphouse. _Great! Just what you needed to worry about. Druggies drifting in and out of your building._ You read something once in a newspaper once about how a meth lab exploded in a residential neighborhood, destroying its own plot of land as well as two neighboring homes. _Oh God, what would it do to apartments?_ The whole situation wasn't kosher, it just didn't sit right in your gut.  
  
You've had suspicious neighbors before, this neighborhood was no American dream, picture perfect postcard, but that didn't numb you to the sheer strangeness of it all.  
  
You'd only met this man once and it was while he rushing down the hall haphazardly. He slammed into you rather violently causing the laundry basket you were holding at the time to be sent flying onto the grimy hallway carpeting. _Still can't find that favorite pair of socks, had to rewash a good few things too._ You got his name in a hasty, half-hearted apology. He always looked a mess; his moth-bitten flannel was somehow always buttoned unevenly and his beard was unkempt and devouring his face like a dead-grass, overgrown lawn.  
  
You had tried your best to stay away from him if you're being absolutely honest with yourself, but nevertheless you were always a lucky one, and of course it'd be you who'd be caught by him in the hall. _Of course._  


———

  


You stumbled up the creaky stairs, internally cursing yourself for ever agreeing to an apartment on the second floor. _It's good exercise! It's a safer apartment, less likely to be broken into if its higher up!_ Almost as if some terrible karmic God has heard your thoughts the cheap, thin plastic bag from the nearby bodega snaps as you're over halfway up the stairs. A can of off-brand Spaghetti-O's to go bouncing down the stairs and out of your line of sight. You are suddenly very aware of the heft of the three bags you're holding, and your arms squeeze desperately to keep the broken bag from allowing any more produce to make their escape.  


_Fuck, damn it!_  


You let out a frustrated sigh, resigned to walk back down to pick it up with what's available of your arms reach. The thought of you attempting to balance the bags you have while clawing desperately at the stupid can with what's available of your tiny t-rex grasp already pisses you off, but you turn around to retrieve the run-away can anyway.  


And suddenly there's a man.  


You jump and let out a startled gasp, not expecting someone to be standing right behind you. It takes your brain a second to register his face and — Oh, It's your neighbor. Your weirdo neighbor, Andrew. He's holding out your rogue can that's now sporting a nice dent, the knock-off, googley-eyed mascot on the side of the can looks even more ugly now that label's torn and distorted it from the fall. You frown.  


"You drop this?" He smiles kindly enough, but the smile doesn't reach his blood-shot and heavy-lidded gaze. Your drug den fear flares up just seeing the glassiness in his eyes. He glances at all your holding, "Need any help with all that?"  


"Thanks and no." You give a curt smile as you swipe the can from his hand, already turning on your heel.  


"Hey, um." You try to pretend to not hear him and keep making your way up the stairs, "You live on the same floor as me right?"  


A chill crawls up your spine at the thought of some man you barely know monitoring what apartment you go into every night. You turn and scowl at him, "Why?" it comes out sounding more like a statement than a question. You dare him with your eyes to try something, those self-defense classes you took at the YMCA were itching to be put to good use.  


He flinches at the bite in your voice, "I'm sorry, that came out wrong, I'm not trying to be weird or anything I just needed someone to do me a favor," You're already briskly walking away, "House sitting, just for the weekend." He follows quickly behind you. "You think you could watch the place? Are you busy? Real simple," You finally turn to face him, with full intent of telling him off, "and I'll pay you!"  


You stop. The mention of money has your ears pricked up.  
"How much?" You ask, not at all trying to hide the skepticism in your voice.  
He gives you an eager, albeit a little suspicious smile. The anxiety is right behind his teeth and twitching corner of his lip. "A cool 250$ how does that sound?"  
"I...I don't know" you lie. It's not that you are overly materialistic, or high-maintenance and need a lot of money, but to put it plainly...you're kinda broke. Your minimum wage job sure as hell doesn't pay you enough, and even with small side hustles you're barely cutting all your bills on a monthly basis.  
"Ok 300$!" He nearly jumps at you, "300$ and you don't even have to go inside! Just watch the door for me." He seems more stressed now, his eyes widen a little. "I'll even pay you before hand."  


Part of you still wants to say no, turn 180 and march right into your apartment but, these heavy groceries remind you to make your decision quickly lest your arms grow long and fall off. You know in the back of your mind that the rent is due soon and that amount of money would really help.  
"Ok fine." You give him a serious glare, "but I will **not** be going in there no matter what."  
His face floods with a look of relief, "Perfect, that's all I need!" he agrees.  
  
_Weirdo._

  


———

  


An uncomfortable thought comes to mind: what would you do anyway if anyone even tried to break in his place? Is the money enough to justify fighting off some robber or assailant? Was it worth it? You grimace and lean your head back against the door with a heavy thud. The hallway has dingy carpeting and you try not to think about it rubbing off on your pants or anything as you readjust to sit as comfortably as you can against the apartment door. Maybe you should've asked for more pay, a fee in case anyone tries to break into what you are now positive is a some sort of drug operation.  


You can barely have a laugh at your stupid, anxious thought before you hear something rustling inside the locked apartment. Does Andrew have pets? You desperately search your memory but can't recall the slightest indication of a Fido hanging around. Your stomach knots as the noise continues, and as you listen, you realize doesn't sound much like the rustling of an animal at all — It sounds like a muffled voice.  
The mere idea that your simple job going so wrong already makes your knees a little weak but you don't notice as you shoot to your feet and and shove your ear against the door.  


Waiting a moment, all you can hear is your uneasy heartbeat and the couple in apartment 208 arguing distantly...but then very clearly a thud, a thumping...and yes, it is definitely a muffled voice. It sounds like someone who has had their mouth stuffed full of cotton. _Oh God!_ It finally clicks. _A gag?! Is someone tied up in there?!_  
You knew it! A cold sweat breaks out on the base of your neck and you shiver, your suspicions are confirmed, Andrew is way worse than just being a drug dealer, he's probably a serial killer! You're up before you can wrap your head around the situation you're pacing quick lines in front of the door.  
What do you do? What do you do? You contemplate calling 911 but you know in your heart that at best the cops avoid this side of town, and at worst don't send anybody at all.  


_Oh god, oh god you have to help! Someone's in there you need to do something!_  
Your hands are shaky as you fumble to pull your wallet out, ripping an old plastic K-Mart gift-card out. You jam in in the crook of the door and work your magic; a trick you learned from your roommate during the first semester of college when you were both drunk and locked yourselves out of your dorm after some crowded party a friend of your friend's was having. You never would have considered yourself heroic, not in any sense of the word but you're something about knowing a human being is possibly tied up like a Christmas present in there makes you act in a way you never thought possible.  


Fumbling with the doorknob for a few moments, after your sweaty hands stop slipping, you hear a telltale click and the door ominously creeks open, exposing the deep, black apartment to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there i am absolutely _not_ a writer at all, so i am sorry if this is no good. i enjoy fanfiction in my free time and was inspired by a lot of amazing writers here. i write for fun for myself and leave chapters in drafts, then i like to forget what i wrote and re-read it for myself, and i thought maybe eventually somebody would wanna read this too! who knows! so i wrote this for me and the 3 other people who wanted some chucky character exploration. please feel free to critique me again this is my first piece! ☆


	2. Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter where your new best friend shows up.

You paw at the wall feeling for a light switch, these apartment layouts are carbon copies of one another, it should be right where the switch is in your own home, it takes you no real time to find it. You take a second to adjust to the sudden brightness, eyes wondering a moment before your gaze settles on the only real furniture in the room; a cheap off-white, plastic table with a single lonely fold-out chair next to it. The light in the ceiling above the table that shines down on it like a spotlight, it seems as though only one light in the apartment was important enough for the purchase of a light bulb. 

It's impossible to not see it, the way it's illuminated: there's something on top of the table.

It takes you a moment to register fully what is splayed out before you, and nothing could have prepared you for it. It's a human — almost human head. Severed, yet still writhing; what appears to be brain matter, shiny and red, bulging exposed flesh that looks so painfully grotesque as it gleams under the dingy kitchen light. Your stomach sours and churns, bitter bile bites at the base of your esophagus and you stumble backwards into a nearby end table you hadn't noticed beforehand. With a loud _THUD_ your legs give out and your clamoring backwards as quickly as you can. Your fall sends mildew-y newspaper clippings that lined the old hardwood to scatter around the room, floating to the ground as shreds of silver and ink. 

Heart beating in your throat, your mind screams _'Run! Run and never look back!'_ but your legs are heavy as lead bricks, so all you can do is gawk.

The head is placed in the middle of the room, on the table looking like it's about to be served up for a holiday feast. You're half shocked it doesn't have an apple in it's mouth and isn't surrounded by garnish.

"What the fuck what the fuck!" You shriek, your voice not even sounding like your own as it reaches a shrill note you didn't know you could produce.

You knew it. You should've minded your own business, noises from other people's apartments should never be something you should've concerned yourself with! You certainly shouldn't have fucking investigated either. 

The head's eyes snap toward you and you nearly faint. _Oh god, oh fuck it's alive!_ They're a shocking, unnatural electric blue. _Horrible_ you think to yourself so briefly it barely registers, _they're horrible._ Red hair. Hair that is in patches where you can see exposed areas where there was needling done to keep it in, reminding you of one two many barbies you'd given butchered hair cuts to as a child. It has a face that is shiny like plastic, but bleeding like and scarred horribly like flesh. One of it's glassy eyes looks nearly gauged out and it's a wonder how the marble hasn't rolled out of it's head and into the corner of this awful dusty apartment.

The head's mouth is indeed bound and gagged, there's a sheen on it's skin like sweat and now that's seen you it writhes so much it nearly shakes itself off the table. It's yelling beneath the tight cloth in it's mouth, now growing wet with desperate saliva in it's struggle.

Those horrible eyes are wide and watching you impatiently like a hungry predator. It thrashes violently as if it stops you'd suddenly somehow look past the macabre display.

You slowly rise to your feet and those blue eyes follow you the entire way up. "D-did...Can you understand me?" The head's eyes shoot wide and almost look furious at the question, it rattles back and forth harder shaking the cheap plastic fold-out table beneath it. "Sorry! Sorry!" You put your hands out defensively. "H-hold on a sec." You're not sure what you're doing, not sure what's possessed you, but you're gonna get that gag off. "H...hold still." 

The closer you get to it's face the uglier it is. The scars are held together by what looks like staples and they're deep, it's is missing more hair than you initially noticed and the base of the neck seems to be haphazardly nailed to a block of wood, with wounds that are surely infected. As you nervously move behind it you watch it's face contort into a snarl.

"Oh my god please don't bite me oh my god..." You pray under your breath as your shaky hands reach around the back of the head to untie the gag. When your brush past the hair on it's head, it feels oily and real which somehow makes you feel even worse.

" _FUCK! CHRIST!_ Fucking finally! " 

His profanity sends you stumbling backwards again, and into a filthy refrigerator. You cling to it's cheap linoleum sides as if it'll somehow keep distance between you and this sentient head. You didn't anticipate the head would actually _talk_ , and hearing his deep harsh voice only served to sky-rocket you heart rate.

"Aw, what's the matter?" He grins at you with sharp, jagged teeth "Never seen a possessed Good Guy doll before?" His grin widens, "I'm vintage."

Words stick to the inside of your throat so all you can manage is a pathetic whimper.

He tosses his head back as far as the woodblock allows and howls with sharp laughter. His wild eyes search your horrified face and he seems to find every answer he needs. A possessed doll? What sort of sick reality is this?!

"Y-your a...a doll?" This can't be real, you must've fallen asleep outside the door. This is a nightmare.

His little nose wrinkles and the artificial freckles painted across his face twitch as he shoots you the most shit-eating grin you've ever seen. "No, I'm the _Easter Bunny_ ,"  
his tone so sarcastic it cuts you like a knife, "But my friends call me Chucky." 

"Chucky?" He grins as his name leaves your lips. "Chucky, did Andrew do this to you?"

He looks almost amused, his non-existent eyebrows knit, "Andrew?" He scoffs, "Yeah, my old pal Andy is a real pill. Nothing like spending a Friday night with your best friend right?" He looks for the briefest moment like he's in thought, suddenly he frowns, "He tortures me for fun here, the sick bastard." 

Your face goes pale. "Torture?!" Clinging to the wall you edge yourself closer to the exit, no need to be here when your lovely neighbor makes his way home. Just as your about to bolt Chucky's eyes blow out like he's seen his own death and he pleads, "Where are you going?! You can't leave me here! You can't you—!" He is breathing heavy but he quickly composes himself, "Please don't let him do this, look at me!" Suddenly the horrifying doll looks the picture of pity. His molded blithe features only making him look more miserable and it makes your heart sink.

"W-what do you need me to do?"

Chucky's eyes gleam, "Well it would be a real good start if you could get me outta this craphole."


	3. Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never drink alone!

This is the worst decision you could have ever made, you're positive of it.

Back in the relative safety of your apartment, you don't feel relatively safe at all.

You've been pacing back and forth so quickly you almost tripped on the wrinkled polyester from an impulse-buy rug you got last month for Halloween. It's little jack-o-lantern shape seems to sneer up at you; irrationality strikes and you kick it far to the other side of living room. 

Chucky had instructed you to take a battered padlocked suitcase from Andrew — _Andy's_ room. He said it contained the rest of his body. You shutter to imagine what his body looks like if his face already looks this terrible. Perhaps you should draw the line at stuffing his entrails back in his cotton torso.

"All in one night!" Chucky watches you pace on cracked kitchen tiles from his position on your couch where you've perched him. "I've broken and entered, I've _stolen_ , and now I have some psycho-killer neighbor who's gonna be out for blood once he realizes I've nabbed his - his _plaything!_ " 

"Take it easy kid." Chucky hums, "Once you put me back together you don't have a single thing to worry about! Promise! You won't have to worry about Andy or anyone for that matter, ever again." His voice is remarkably calm for the situation he's in. At least one of you is keeping it together, you're grateful for it.

It feels extremely weird to be consoled by your new decapitated friend. 

"Can you sew?"  
"Yea, yeah a little.  
"Faa-n-tastic" He drawls out in a whiny way that like a true Chicago native can; his accent might've been amusing if you weren't in such a frenzy. "Then all ya gotta do is sew my head back on my body for me, think you can manage?"  
"I can try."  
"That's all I ask." He shoots you a patient smile that doesn't suit his severe face at all.

You have to really convince yourself to open it, your stomach is in knots imagining the living-dead bits and pieces awaiting you inside. After much reassurance from Chucky that 'his body isn't as bad as his face,' you're bashing open the padlock. There is indeed a body inside: a doll body, no bigger than a few feet at best, with torn clothes and scarred skin to match it's owner's face. Much to your relief there is no rot, no smell and no entrails. 

"Great!" Chucky cackles, "Now I need you to remove these nails from my neck. I'm sick of being part plywood." 

"Y-yeah of course."

You stare at the many, many rusty nails holding Chucky's neck in place. The wound where his neck is cut is surprisingly fresh and it makes your chest tight thinking that Andy could have been doing all this torturing just few hours prior and you were none the wiser. You cautiously reach out to touch one of the looser-looking nails and Chucky winces at the lightest brush.

"Ow—! Agh, wait no I can take it! Do it quick like a band-aid." You frown, feeling the full weight of the cruelty of doing this with-out any sort of pain-killer...

"Oh! I have an idea, wait one second for me." Chucky watches you impatiently as you run to your backroom, then kitchen, and then his face lights up like a Christmas tree when he sees what you're carrying back. 

A familiar green bottle, gleaming like an emerald knight, here to save the day: a bottle of Jamison, followed by a pair of novelty shot glasses shaped like two buxom naked women's torsos, the faded text dancing along the sides declaring _'I bared it all at Venice Beach!'_. Chucky's eyes don't even dwell on the hammer you've also brought over.

" _Two_ shot glasses?" He looks especially charmed staring at their unique, glass shapes. His electric blue eyes stare up at you untroubled by the imposing tool that'll be used to remove nails during this crude endeavor.

"Y-yeah," you return his grin, albeit a little less sure, "Never drink alone, right?" He cackles again. You omit the fact that you feel like you'll need the whole bottle to make it through this back-alley operation, lest you make him any less confident in your already extremely questionable surgical skills.

"Oh kid," Chucky smiles, "I like you." You try to smile back as you pour the two shots, you're a bit shaky and spill a bit on your hands but don't even notice. 

"Cheers." You carefully hold up the shot glass to Chucky's scarred lips, and he gratefully drinks the alcohol down like a man starved for water. One, then two for yourself but you give two more to your new drinking buddy, helping you both become increasingly more comfortable with this situation. 

His eyes watch unblinking as the sharp backing of the hammer comes down around the first nail. Some part of you is unsettled by Chucky's lack of fear, your heart aches at the idea that anyone could endure so much that they become so jaded to their own abuse. "Talk to me, kid I wanna keep my mind off all these fuckin' things." He hisses as you pull the first nail out, black-red blood splatters a little and hits your face, Chucky watches and quietly mentions what a good look that is for you. You can't hold back the a small gag, but you appreciate his attempt at easing the tension.

"Yeah sure...um." Suddenly, very unsure "What's it like, y'know...being a living-doll?"

You question, half hoping it's not an extremely rude thing to inquire.

He barely has to think, "Well, I've been one for a while now, maybe over three decades or so...but I used to be human." His voice has a intonation that tells you he knows what he just said is extremely interesting.

Okay, You'll bite. You would almost believe anything after this night, "seriously?" asking as you swiftly dislodge two particularly stubborn nails.

Chucky's face shifts to the picture of mischief, "Yeah. Had a big dick too." You pull back a second, mortified and Chucky revels in your discomfort with a loud joyous cackle. 

"Careful," you grumble "I could have hurt you...almost done. Just a few more." 

The remaining nails pull from flesh easily, and without the support Chucky's head falls back exposing the shredded gore underneath. Having no real time to brace yourself for what you were seeing, a shudder racks your body. The red, raw muscles of his neck are exposed to you but for some reason what really sends vomit up your throat is how his hacked-off spinal vertebrae looks. Your body finally gives, and you're rushing to the bathroom. 

"What a waste of good booze!" He calls out to you. "Hurry up and toss your cookies, kid! You still gotta sew my head back on my body!" 

———

You only threw up once more during the process, and frankly you're pretty damn proud of that. You quickly toss out the disposable gloves that had protected you, they are covered in blood and make a sick splattering noise as you whip them in the garbage can. Chucky has been sitting ' _completed_ ' for about fifteen minutes now and is barely getting the sensation back in his toes, he can still barely move and it seems to be upsetting him. 

"Hurry up and move you sons-of-bitches!" He hisses at his own two feet before tossing his head back into the couch. He stares up at the ceiling a huffs out a sigh. "I swear it usually doesn't take me this long." He gives you a rather lazy smile despite his outburst. 

You feel bad, he looks so small and weak. "Maybe you need something to help you heal? When's the last time you ate?" _If you do eat_? "I don't usually have guest but I just did a bit of shopping, I could make you something?" 

Chucky smiles at you as pleasantly as his maimed face will allow, "You are too sweet, doll. Thank You that sounds great." You head to the kitchen to quickly toss something together.

There is such a disconnect between how Chucky looks and acts and it's confusing. He looks look an 80's horror movie marathon's wet dream, he is utterly gnarled and held together by threads and wishful thinking. You almost expect he'd be mean or rude, he's a bit raunchy but otherwise pretty polite, and grateful. It prompts the question,

"What were you like as a person?"

The gas oven clicks for a few seconds before a flame comes to life, on a low heat you throw some butter in pan and let it melt. 

"I'm still a person." He says flatly, smacking you with a wave of guilt. 

"I, I know I'm so sorry," you nearly cut your finger slicing a wheel of gouda into strips, "I meant...how were you as a human? How old were you, what'd you look like? Stuff like that." You ask softly, placing four fat slices of bread on the pan to brown. "Just curious."

Chucky seems to bristle a bit at your questioning, but you're too busy putting slices of quickly melting cheddar on toasted bread. 

"I was tall, dark and handsome, baby!" He laughs, "Well, was 37 before I got voodoo'd into the lovable vessel you see before you today." 

"You said you've been this way over a few decades? You're more like... 67 now." Chucky's nostrils flare at that, but he looks more amused than anything at your snappy retort. 

"Wow, and nobody's wished me a happy birthday any of that time. Not even any cake." 

You hand him the finished grilled cheese, "Well maybe I can put a candle in this for you. Would that help?" Again he gives you a very grateful look that still doesn't look right on his battered face.

His arms must still be weak because the plate wobbles as he takes it from you, he sees you staring as he gingerly, carefully lifts the sandwich to his mouth. It looks so over-sized in his doll hands and when his grasp falters again, 

"Do you need me t-"  
"No I don't need you to feed me!" He snaps, "give me _some_ dignity, damn kid." You give him a quick and quiet 'sorry' as you sit across him to eat your own food.

He eats earnestly, making a big show of moaning about how good your cooking is. "Broads can't cook like they used to, nice to see a chick with some old-school values." He says it like it's a compliment but you still feel your lips move into a tight grimace at the misogynistic tone of it. You bite your tongue, deciding that a sixty-some year old outdated attitude is the least of your concerns for now. 

"Glad you like it." Is all you can really think to say.

 _When's the last time he ate? Could he even have eaten, his stomach was in the other room._ This voodoo anatomy lesson you got today has you feeling uneasy, you've only managed a few mechanical bites and thus far haven't really been tasting your food. Chucky is on the other hand is unperturbed, devouring his food with vigor. His hands seem to gain a little more dexterity as he eats. 

"Can I get a beer or somethin'?" He asks without even looking up. He has crumbs all over his face and for some reason that make a small grin form on yours. It's nice to see is appetite wasn't hurt too bad with ordeal he's been through. 

"Sure thing." 

Before you can even stand up there's a loud banging at your door that jolts you to your feet; your apartment door rattles so hard you're sure the old chain will bust any minute and the door will just crumble off it's old hinges. 

Then, you hear your name being hollered as loud as it possible. The voice makes your blood cold. Andy. 

_Andy's back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can make that grilled cheese recipe you know! try it!


	4. Snack Run

The banging is relentless, your door knocker rattles hard as Andy shouts for you.

"Hello?! Are you in there? _Oh God,_ answer me! **Are you in there!?** " 

"Well shit." Chucky jumps to his legs but they're so wobbly and weak he falls back on the couch, "this ain't good."

Your heart is in your throat, as you back away as far as you can from the door. For whatever reason your mind pulls the memory of a half-alive rodent in the laundry room that was caught in a archaic, cruel glue trap. No matter how hard it struggled it's flesh refusing to pull free, you almost wonder if this is the type of cornered panic a creature like that feels. _This is it! This is how it ends! Hacked to death by your psycho-killer neighbor with your new living dead doll pal._

"Chucky!" you whisper, voice shaky "Can you run?!"

"Yeah I could go for a marathon — NO! I can't even fuckin' stand!" He bites back. You wince, realizing the absurdity of your question especially after just having watched him wobble over. You can feel sweat on your brow, and your hands tremble as, your mind feels blank and panic is crawling into your brain.

"I hear something! Please open up! Open up!" Andy is relentless, the door sounds like it's gonna come down any second as the wood rattles on it hinges. The violent pounding snaps you back to reality, eyes darting around the room, before your common sense can catch up with you, then you see it - the fire escape! You run across the room snatching your wallet and keys, Chucky looks nervous for just a split second, as if he thinks you're gonna bolt without him.

"Listen, I'm gonna carry you down the fire escape, then we'll make a break for my car and we're out of here and gonna get as far away as possible." Chucky doesn't move as you quickly scoop him into your arms, he doesn't even have time to be uncomfortable with some person he just met holding him like a toy and you hope he can get past his seemingly prideful nature to just survive with you as you make your way out. "Hold on!"

It takes a few strong tugs to open the escape, two of your nails break as they slam against the brick siding, your fingers slick with sweat barely grasping the edges but finally the window opens with a few harsh jerking motions. You waste no time ducking through it racing against Andy's onslaught. Before you make it all the way through, Chucky triumphantly bellows, "See ya fucker! I'll make sure to visit real soon!" Chucky's shout rattles your ear drum as he lays slung over your shoulder. He makes sure to flip off the door on the way out, cackling wildly. Chucky's shout has you running faster than you ever imagined you could, your lungs on fire as barrel down the fire escape.

Some animal part of you pricks your ears and has hair standing on end as you notice how clear and close Andy's voice is now, you can hear him through the window you just climbed out of. You explode down the metal stairs with the realization he broke through into your apartment. The fire escape shifts a bit, you can feel someone else getting on with it's sway. Someone else is coming after you. 

_Thudthudthudthudthud!_ The old fixture rattles as you fly down it, a part of you has the mind to worry that a rusted bolt will come loose somewhere and everything will come crashing down. It almost moves with a particularly harsh gust of November wind but nothing stops you. Once you can actually see the asphalt, you don't take too much time to judge the distance before you've squeezed Chucky to your chest and leaped off. The jump is less than three feet down but panic has taken over and your landing isn't smooth.

"Fuck! Shit ow!" Your ankle rolls as you hit the ground, making you stumble.

"What's wrong?! Hurry up the hell up! Don't drop me!" Chucky snaps at you and it's all you need to hear before bolting to your car parked down the street. You've never been so happy to see the ugly beige Honda in your life. 

Unlocking the doors as quickly as you can you don't bother putting Chucky in the passenger seat, you buckle him in your lap and you take off down the road with a screech of your tires and Andy's screams on your heels.

———

You drive and drive and drive without thinking, you ignore the speed limit for a good ten or twelve miles before finally minding yourself enough to start slowing down a little. You've been gripping the old steering wheel so hard your palms are sure to have blisters later.

Your companion clears his throat and you suddenly feel very awkward with the realization he's still in your lap. It's still weird that he looks so much like a doll but has all the warmth of a living being. "Shit, sorry." You unbuckle and let him crawl into the passenger seat, you turn your face away from him hoping he doesn't see the humiliated flush of it. The loss of warmth is definitely felt, your hand flicks to the heater. "H...how are you legs feeling?" 

Chucky eyes you for a moment too long, "I am startin' to be able to feel my toes again so that's something." He kicks his legs for effect, "not bad really. You?"

"I almost forgot honestly," you choke out a bitter laugh as you try to roll it a little, the sharp pain making you flinch a little. 

There is a pregnant silence for a few moments before you gain the courage to speak, "What are we gonna do?"

"No cops." Chucky says flatly, "Seriously trust me they’re always a bad idea, plus what're you gonna tell'm?" He mimics your voice in a comically high falsetto, "Oh, yeah Mr. Officer me and my pal Chucky — Oh yeah, he's a walking, talking _possessed doll_ by the way, are being hunted down by my wackadoo neighbor, can you help pretty please?"

As annoyed as you are with his mocking, he isn't wrong. If you called the cops what would you even say? They'd lock you up, put you away.

"How much money you got on you?" 

"I...I just went grocery shopping earlier this week, so I,"  
"So not a lot then?" He sounds agitated. His brow is furrowed, pulling the scars on his face closer together making him look more severe and vicious. The look is intimidating, your voice dies in your throat and Chucky rolls his eyes at you. "Some plan, kid. What are we gonna do? We can't go 'round willy nilly if we don't have any cash! What were you thinking, huh!?" 

"L-listen!" It comes out way louder than you expected, "My life has just been flipped on it's ass and for **you**!" your voice shakes, "I don't even know you! Don't you dare try to make me feel worse about it! Who the hell do you think you are?! I feel like I'm in a fucking _nightmare_ , I saved your plastic hide, I got us out of there, patched you up, _oh_ but **now** you want to pass judgement!?" 

Chucky seems startled by your outburst he spends a moment just blinking his bright blue eyes incredulously; nevertheless he's quick to yell back, "You think your life is a nightmare now, doll? I'll give ya fuckin' a nightmare!" He snarls.

Damn it. Something in you snaps, and pathetic, hot tears are streaming down your face. Once you've started you can't stop crying. You can't bring yourself to look at Chucky but from how quiet he's gotten you can assume you've made him uncomfortable. Too upset to care you sob stupidly. Eyes becoming too bleary to drive safely so you pull in to the nearest oncoming gas station and park yourself. 

You cry for a few more minutes, the only noise in your stuffy car is the sound of ugly sniffles trying to keep snot from cascading down your face too. 

You rub your eyes, "I'm just freaked out, sorry" a hiccup, "I don't know why I'm crying, ugh." You rub your nose ungracefully on the back of your sleeve. When you finally get the courage to look at your new companion, he's staring at you like you have five heads. 

Embarrassed, you let your head fall into the steering wheel with a 'thud.' The horn honks with the hit, it might've been funny if it weren't happening to you.

"Hate to say it," he pipes up "but get it together already." You finally look at him, all of him. His body is dwarfed in your passenger seat, his garishly colorful clothing bright against your car's aged, tan upholstery. "Jesus Christ, wipe your nose." His own wrinkles in disgust, you must be a sight. 

"I...I think I need some water or something...need anything?" He shakes his head 'no’ face still making no attempt to hide the look of revulsion on his face. “Don’t get out of the car. I’ll be right back.” When you make your exit your eyes are so bleary, you almost trip on a rusted old crowbar on the way to the shabby old gas station. “Someone should pick that up…” You offer listlessly to whoever will hear it, rubbing away the remaining tears on your cotton sleeve. 

The bell on the entrance of the door is too damn loud right now and just the chime threatens to bring on a migraine. The apathetic looking man half-heartedly greets you from behind the counter, his attention only catching when he sees the state of you; barely raising a wiry eyebrow when he sees how puffy and discolored your face is. You grimace back at him, and quickly head to the freezer section of the store, thanking God the entire way there that it’s far hidden from the attendant's subjective gaze. 

_How the hell is this all happening?_ You almost burst into tears again, but instead you allow your chest to grow tight as you swallow down the hard knot in your throat. You have to actively push back the depressing idea that if you never took the stupid offer, you’d be home right now watching some shitty rerun safely, in you apartment. You wouldn’t be on the run from some murder.

You select a few snacks spiritless, along with the two water bottles you came in for. The thought strikes you that you’re doing way too much for that squirt, but what other option did you ever have? If you let Andy have him you’re just as much a monster as his captor, right?

The loud, obnoxious door bell rings again pulling you out of your self-loathing. _Maybe grab some ibuprofen too…_

You never even get the chance to enter the isle over, a loud pained cry shocks you into dropping all the items you had been skillfully holding. A loud, sickening noise pierces the air, once, twice, three times. The wet thwacking sound makes your stomach twist.

By the time you have the courage to peer out from behind a display of neatly stacked cases, there is a quickly forming lake of crimson pooling out from the head of the apathetic attendant who is now laying face down. The blood gathering dividing in channels as it flows between the tiles of the flooring. There is no rise and fall to his chest and you don’t expect there to be, his head is bashed in. There is something horrifically surreal about seeing shards of skull and grey-matter splayed out in front of you from someone you had just seen alive not even a few minutes ago. You shake at the gore in front of you, you can barely peel your eyes from the gruesome spectacle. 

“You were takin’ way too long.” 

Chucky...

Chucky?

Your eyes jerk over from the rapidly cooling body to him, he’s standing there casually as anything holding the rusty crowbar. Blood and gore are sprinkled across his outfit and face, blood spray is cast across him and you can barely tell where his freckles are anymore. Chucky adds another element of awfulness to the situation, as has the nerve to give you a boyish grin. He looks at you as if it’s your turn to say something. You just gawk back at him and tremble.

“Christ seriously? A little blood and you become totally useless I swear to God.” He cackles, “Hurry up grab your shit, grab a Snickers or whatever the fuck you came in for and let’s go. I’m gonna break open the cash register.” He shoots you a favoring look, but you’re motionless. “Fine, but don’t cry to me when you’re hungry on the drive.” He tuts like he’s the father to an indecisive child. It takes all your strength to shake your head, to which he rolls his eyes. The exchange is way too offhanded for what has just taken place.

“Oh and kid?” You eyes that had wondered back to the gore, lock back onto Chucky, “If you try to make a run for it, I’ll bash your pretty little head in too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait for this chapter I've been busy and I was having a hard time deciding how to execute this one!  
> Tell me if the pacing is alright or if I need to go slower/faster! I'm still getting used to writing!


	5. Heat

  
It sounded a lot like a steady heartbeat when the gas filled the tank, almost matching the loud noise in your ears at the time. It’s mostly all you could remember, the way here was one massive blur. The heater was on in the car, you could smell the iron on your clothes thanks to Chucky. Before fleeing the gas station he had seen it fit to wipe the crow-bar on your pant leg to clean it off, snickering as you were still paralyzed with shock and terror. The car Chucky coerced you into stealing was nicer than yours was, and it warmed up a lot faster. You heard Chucky distantly mention something about the “nice ass heated seats” but you were too out of it to respond. The highways signs blurred together as you drove, you might’ve been in Indiana now, you’re weren’t sure. When you got to the motel, the tired attendant didn’t question your dead-eyes or even ever look past your waist to see the obvious evidence of a crime. It was almost too easy, you’d never imagined murder would have been so easy and the injustice made your heart heavy.  


Now, here you sit, still dazed on cheap polyester bedding across from the one and only, _Charles Lee Ray_. ‘The Lakeshore Strangler’ the news had coined him on some cold, terrifying night way back in the 1980s. He lays reclined lazily in a chair, the furniture being so old that the maroon fabric has started to smooth on the armrests. Some tiny voice in the back of your head worries about bed bugs but it’s only a passing thought, you were much more preoccupied with the very real danger in front of you. Chucky must’ve sensed your gawking because he turns away from his television show, regarding with an unblinking leer. His eyes are lowered almost if daring you to try something. You don’t even squirm when you realize you can feel where sticky, congealed blood still lays on your pant leg. 

_In a way, you feel really stupid. I mean just look at him! He looks like a fucking villain! How could you be so dumb?_  


The way the light from the setting sun casts a warm beam across Chucky’s face make his synthetic skin look all the more inhuman. He is still covered in the evidence of his gruesome act, splatters of gore are still in his hair and on his face, his freckles are still indistinguishable from the finer splatters. It sends a chill through your bones to think just a few hours ago you were talking so casually with him, feeding him, stitching him back together…It almost makes you dizzy to think how you carried him out the door. _He was right on your chest! He could have taken out your jugular if he didn’t need you for his breakout!_  


“You done sulking yet?” His gruff voice cutting through the dusty air of the cheap motel room. He asks with an annoyed tone to his voice to it, as if it’s _you_ who’s being rude with your silence. You force yourself to meet his gaze, and when you do he grins, baring his tiny jagged teeth. “Wanna get room-service?” You let out a little gasp, surprised at his attempt to humor you, which serves to earn a pleased chortle from him. “C’mon kid, lighten up.” After what felt like an eon, Chucky grabs the remote and flips through the channels again. “Can’t believe you haven’t heard of ‘Charles Lee Ray’ before, honestly your generation has no culture! Who hasn’t heard of me? I mean come on... I’m a killer doll for Christ’s sake!” He thinks for a moment, finally looking away from the television and back to you, “I mean I guess it’s sorta good you didn’t know who I was, or you wouldn’t have helped me probably.” He shoots you a cheeky smirk, tossing the remote away having lost interest in his pursuit of a TV-Show. He jumps off the creaky recliner which squeaks with the loss of his weight; In a few short strides is standing at your knees looking up at you. “You’re really fuckin’ gullible, you know that?” He says it like he’s paying you a compliment. Your heart jumps higher in your chest the closer he gets, “don’t get me wrong though, I’m real thankful for it.”  


Your mouth is dry, you can’t really come close to forming a proper response. Chucky, _Chucky the killer doll. Charles Lee Ray The Lakeshore Strangler. _You’re almost overwhelmed by how hard you’re trying to suppress your body’s urge to tremble, you don’t want to give him the further satisfaction. You still can’t bring yourself to look at him, your eyes shoot all over the outdated decor of the room but you never let them land on him.  
__

__“Hey kid... _kiddo_ …” He croons, the overwhelming coppery scent of his assault is right under your nose, you can feel how close he is from the warmth of his body. Your gut twists and you’re unsure if it’s from the smell or the fear. His eyes glide from your face to your legs twice, as if something’s just occurred to him. You watch his hands reach out for you, and your mind screams _move move move! Don’t let him touch me oh god!_ But you can’t will your legs to pull away. Your blood goes cold when you feel his tiny, hot hands on your kneecaps. “Kiiidd…” he softens his voice a bit and somehow that unsettles you more. You can’t help but finally set your eyes on him, and Chucky looks delighted. “Wanna mess around?”  
_ _

____

____

“What!?” Your voice comes out a dry squak, not having spoken since the gas station. You half expect him to howl with laughter like he usually does, but isn’t, in fact he is staring fixedly at you with a seriousness that flusters you. You can see his sharp eyes taking in the sight of you, clearly mistaking the meaning of your heated face. When you feel his hand move further up your thigh you can finally move, and you send your body flying backwards, pulling yourself away from his roaming fingers. He isn’t deterred in the slightest, hoisting himself up on the bed. “C’mon no need to be shy,” his hooded eyes are dark with purpling bruises Andy must have given him while he was in captivity, they make his eye socket look all the more hollow and grim, “how’s about we get to know each other a little better? Whaddya say?” 

“Y-you’re covered in blood.” You don’t know why you’ve said it but it does seem to stop Chucky for a second. He blinks confused, “Yeah? So? I kinda dig it, why don’t we get a little messier then? Or...would you prefer we do something weird in the bathtub? Nice thinkin’ toots. Think the shitty motel’s will be big enough?” 

“You’re...you’re a doll!” Your voice is weak and dying quickly on your tongue, unsure if bringing up something so obvious will factor in at all. Now he looks just down right proud, like he knew at some point you’d bring this up and he had been waiting all along to retort, “And I’m anatomically correct.” Chucky has backed you into the wall, physically and metaphorically, his heavy eyelids are hooded and he’s taken the liberty of stepping in between your legs. Standing at his full height his face meets yours perfectly while you’re seated. For the first time you see how real his glass eyes look, they look wet, alive and alert; they have pupils that are blown wide and he focusing on nothing but you. The television still playing faintly in the background advertises some weird underwear that they swear will make you look ten pounds lighter, but all you notice is how the light from it illuminates the back of the dolls head making his wild, red hair look like a halo. There is no where to go, you can’t avoid Chucky at all, he’s filling all your lines of vision.  


He places his hand behind your head and leans in as close as he can to you, you half expect the faint baby powder smell that toys sometimes have to flood your nose, but it never does. He smells like iron, an oily scalp, and thinly like something natural and masculine. His hand reaches around one side of your face to hold you in still as he dips his head under your jawline and _kisses_ you. 

Your heartbeats feel sticky and erratic, your back stiffens and can feel the sharp edges of the popcorn wall’s texture nipping into your back, and the sharp distinct bite Chucky decides to administer on your throat. You gasp, and again, Chucky must misread it because you can feel him grinning against your throat clearly pleased with himself. Chucky’s thumb rubs your cheek in a way you assume is intended to be soothing, the tenderness making your heart speed up more. _What the fuck is happening? What the fuck is going on?_ No matter how hard you try your brain cannot wrap itself around this situation.  
When he finally pulls back to look at his handiwork, you realize you’ve been holding your breath all along. The air that fills your lungs almost hurts and you rapidly inhale, your head still dizzy from the lack of oxygen. “Ooo, looks good babe, really.” He comments, running his rubber fingers across your newly bruised and defiled skin.  


“Ch...Chucky?” You whine, hating yourself for the way your words came out. You’re not even sure what you want to say if you’re honest, his name left your mouth before you could decide. Chucky smiles pleasantly at you in a way that doesn’t fit his face, letting out a soft “Hmm?” to let you know he heard you. How far could you let this go? Never once had it occurred to you that the doll -- _the person_ you had rescued would have been attracted to you in any way and you’re horrified at the turn of events. “I really like the way you sound saying my name y’know.” He absentmindedly comments. You can almost say for certain Chucky has completely moved on from the earlier slaying and that makes you even more afraid, the killing was so little of a deal to him that he’s here, with you, ready to do god knows what if you let him. What should you do? Would he get violent again if you rejected him? You stomach turns itself over and over, you can’t think straight to save your life, the feeling of rapidly drying saliva on the side of your neck and the dull pain of the newly formed hickies have mostly filled your brain. 

Knocking. There’s loud knocking at your door. Whatever God there is, whoever out there is looking out for you has brought this distraction to your door. You should be more afraid of the intrusion, after all, you’re on the run now too, however all you feel is relief. Chucky turns around looking like he’s ready for his next killing, his lip his pulled tightly over his porcelain teeth into the most vicious snarl you’ve seen him make yet. “What the fuck is it this time?” He growls out quietly.  
“I should go check!” You offer up, voice way too eager, and when your companion raises an eyebrow at you and try to regulate it, “I mean, I don’t want to look suspicious or like we’re hiding out or something…” After a long moment he must agree with the sentiment, reluctantly stepping away from you, allowing you to hop up on your unsteady legs. The cool air of the room is the most refreshing you’ve ever felt in your life after you’ve pulled away from the heat of Chucky’s breath, body, and hands. You practically skip to the door, each step away from him making you feel better and better. 

You lean against the cool faux-wood of the door peeking through the eye-hole anxiously, there doesn’t appear to be anyone at the door and for some reason that makes you feel more worried. “Who is it?” Chucky hisses out, you offer a small shrug. “Well then check!” Against your better judgement, you pull back the chain lock and undo the large bolt, gingerly opening the door. No more than your head and shoulders must've peaked out but it doesn’t stop you from being grabbed and yanked out from the dusty motel room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and touched up some of the previous chapters so they don't seem so...abrupt? I hope it helps the pacing and I fixed a bit of repetitive word choice so hopefully it reads a little smoother!
> 
> I think these are just getting longer and longer! I'll try to reel them back in soon! Sorry for the delay too I just got a new job and I'm busier than usual, I'll try to be quicker with updates but no promises! ;o I'm starting to get a better idea for where I want to go with the story so here's to hoping that helps me write quicker!


	6. Cop Killer

A solid pull has you flying into backwards into the frigid parking lot, the back of your head hitting the ground so hard that the violent ‘ _crack _’ noise from your skull connecting to the pavement would be physically palpable to anyone who could hear it. There are bright amorphous bouts of light behind your eyelids, then in the very next instant your eyes are pointed up to the crisp blackness of the starless night sky. A bat flies out from the whatever dark part of the motel’s roof it was hiding away in and you can see the shape of it’s membraned wings against the bright red neon of the “no vacancy” sign before it vanishes into the vast darkness.__

__

__You struggle against his grip in a such a violent way that is almost primal, the anxiety of being held against your will fueling your fight. You writhe and throw your body as he pulls you to the center of the lot. The cold November dampness and sharp gravel cut into your pant legs the entire way._ _

__

__"How could you do this?! What the fuck is wrong with you! You have no idea what you’ve done!" The familiar voice rattles your eardrums, "You're insane! You're just as bad as Tiffany! How could you help him?!" He yanks you again and it knocks loose the shrill scream you didn’t know you were holding in, "How could you help him?!" Your hair follicles burn at their root at the way you're being jerked around, and you're shouting your voice raw, thrashing as hard as you can, hoping someone in this entire motel complex will hear you and come to your aid. He slaps a grimy, meaty hand over your mouth, just barely muffling you, his other arm braces against you throat effectively limiting your air supply._ _

__

"You're a fuckin buzzkill, Andy. You've always _been_ a buzzkill." Chucky's lip curls over tiny jagged teeth, "and I'm done with ya." In your struggle you hadn't even noticed the fast little foot steps as he ran out the door behind you. 

__

“Chucky!” Your voice comes out pathetic and high pitched, you’re not even quite sure what’s provoked you to call out to him when moments ago you were horrified to be in the same room. How does the saying go? _‘Better the devil you know?’_

__

__Andy isn’t a particularly tall man but he still manages to keep your feet barely on the ground, the rubber tips of your sneakers frustratingly kiss the pavement occasionally but his grip is iron._ _

__

" _You._ " Andy's voice is laced with nothing but unadulterated hate. His voice shakes for a second, "I should have never left, I should have never trusted any-" 

__

__"Eh, but you did." Chucky cuts him off, sounding just a bit too happy with himself, his voice as cocky as ever "you did and really screwed the pooch on that one, huh? Too bad."_ _

__

__For a second so split you’re not sure if it really happens, Chucky's eye flicker to where Andy's arm crushing your wind pipe._ _

__

__From what you're straining to see, Andy isn't looking away, he isn't looking at anything besides your possessed companion. You can't be sure of the history between them but you can see just from Andy's eyes how much hatred he has for killer. Andy pulls you in even tighter, his unruly beard scratches against your own face and it makes your skin crawl._ _

__

__"Let the kid go Andy."_ _

__Andy voice is hoarse, as if he's been screaming every day of his life since he's met Chucky, ”Like hell I will! I-I called the police! They’re on the way right now! Right fucking now!” He sounds like he’s barely taking in any air to speak, “I listened to the police scanners, and-and when they found that man...that poor man at the gas station! I knew! I fucking knew it!”_ _

__“You really think the cops are gonna believe this poor girl killed that man? Look at you ya freakin’ psycho. You’re gaging her in the fuckin’ parking lot.” Chucky looks more humored than you’d like for the situation._ _

“No! Shut the hell up _shut the hell up!_ ” Andy’s voice has gone hoarse and broken, he sounds just as afraid as he is angry. 

__In his panic, you feel his grip loosen and it renews your instinct to fight ten-fold._ _

__

__**Now.** It had to be **now.**_ _

__

__With the slightest bit of slack Andy’s arms had neglected you’re able to build enough momentum to propel your body slightly forward. With a grunt Andy grapples to keep you in his hold but it’s too late. You’ve already swung your leg out as far as you can, and like ball-busting pendulum you kick your heel as hard as you can into Andy's groin._ _

__

__Andy wheezes and you’re finally able to bust free, almost falling face first into the ground before steadying yourself and running behind Chucky._ _

__In a sick way, it’s almost hilarious. You’re shaking like an autumn leaf behind this four-foot man, but you feel as safe as if you behind a wall of steel. There is a sad and scary irony that this little monster is your only lifeline._ _

__

__Chucky howls, nearly doubling over as he watches Andy’s body curl inward on itself. “Nice leg kid!” He cackles, “That’s what you fuckin’ get you asshole! Didn’t your mommy teach you it’s not nice to manhandle ladies?” He voice lowers in a particularly cruel way, “Or did she not get the chance before they locked her up in the looney-bin?”_ _

__

__“I’ll fucking kill you!” Andy spits breathlessly._ _

__

__Chucky looks around for a moment before glancing back at you, and huffing out your name. “Be a doll and bring me one of those alright, sweeteheart?” He gestures to a small, lopsided pile of bricks sitting abandoned next to a half-built decorative stone fence. Your knees lock for a second because you know what is coming next. The prospect of seeing another brain cracked open in front of you in the span of 48hours has you trembling, but you still find yourself walking toward the bricks. “That’s my girl!” Chucky sounds delighted, and when you turn back holding the weight of the heaviest black stone in your arms, he is smiling at you in a way that is both proud and sinister._ _

__

__“Chucky, I—“ Your handle trembles with the cold, deadly weight, “do we have...do we have to do—?“_ _

__

__“You might not know this, and it’s really none a’ your business” he almost growls out, brow lowered menacingly as he rips the brick from your grasp, “but I’l have you know this shit has been a long time coming, alright? A long time.” His eyes electric blue eyes are cruel and the look he gives you absolutely stings, you wonder if he was ever anything besides a monster or if he was just born wrong, _born evil_ , “I know you’ve had a long night but no more lip alright?” _ _

__

__You nod stupidly, and he seems placated as he turns back to Andy._ _

__

__“It’s been a real journey, but I think this is sorta getting a little...drawn out don’t ya think? Can’t keep doing this shit with you forever.” Making a show of weighing the heft of the brick in his hand, Chucky takes a final few steps before slamming the cold concrete onto Andy’s hand. The wet and solid sound of flesh giving and bones snapping, almost makes your stomach lurch, Andy howls in agony._ _

__

__A window opens behind you on the second floor and a homely women with brightly colored rollers in her hair screams for you all to keep it down before she rattles the building with slamming her window again._ _

__

__“Look, you got me disturbin’ the peace.” Chucky slams the brick from Andy’s jaw to temple and blood splatters the pavement. A sick, sticky cough and you see teeth disloged, stark white against the black asphalt. You want to beg and beg _and beg_ for Chucky to stop but you don’t move, you absolutely don’t speak, you’re not even sure if you really breathe as you watch the assault. Somewhere in the very back of your mind you hope if you stand exceptionally still you’ll cease to exist. _ _

__

__The night is almost silent besides the cries and grunts being pulled from Andy, if you had to guess it really seems like Chucky is taking his sweet time._ _

__

__The near silence doesn’t last however, the wailing of red and blue sirens is on the horizon and it has Chucky whiping his head around faster than a dog hearing the front door unlock, his face looks the picture of rage._ _

__

__“No...” he snarls.  
“Chucky, we —“  
“No! Not fucking now!” _ _

__

__Andy’s threats were not hallow, the sound of cop cars bounces of stalks of corn on either side of the high way it’s hard to tell which side of the parking lot they’ll enter from._ _

__

__The overwhelming urge to pick Chucky up and run with him seizes you again but ultimately you decided against it as your eyes get one last good look at the dark blood dripping down his fingers like ink._ _

__

__“I’ll handle it!”  
“What?!” You shriek.  
“Go! Go for now I’ll catch up! I’ll handle it!”  
“Wha—“  
“Are you fucking deaf and dumb?!” He snaps, “Go!” _ _

__

__And with that you’re running._ _

__

__Your feet are past the pavement in what feels like nanoseconds, and now you’re racing against soft tilled ground, pushing past and tripping on tall, pale stalks of corn. You were in Iowa, you had to be in Iowa by now._ _

__For a moment you stop to catch your breath, a sob that sounds infantile works it’s way out of your chest in a breathless gasp. You stand alone in the tall corn and for some reason you remember the scene from Children of the Corn where a demonic child slashes the Achilles tendon of an old man. _Or was that Pet Cemetery?__ _

__And you’re running again, you’re running so hard and so fast you don’t even feel the fat drops of rain that have begun to drench you, you run and zig-zag aimlessly, until a muscle in your calf spasms and you trip into a tiny, over grown clearing. Your fall is anything but graceful, as you slam flat into sticky mud._ _

__

__You lay there, feeling the full weight for your body sink into the ground. You almost wish it would swallow you whole, yet your adrenaline is still fast producing and you fight your way up one last time. Once your eyes level and your head stops spinning, once you can blink and rub away the filth and rain...You see it. The single most beautiful, impossible thing you may ever see again as long as you live._ _

__

__A ramshackle, broken-down barn barely a few yards from you._ _

__

__The wood is aged, and blackened and the massive front entrance hangs open like a drooling maw but right now it might as well be your grandparent’s cozy cottage off in that cute, tiny Wisconsin town you can never remember the name of._ _

__

__With your very last spurt of energy you fight your body upright, and run inside._ _

__

__There is almost no light, everything is dark and solid. The air is heady with the lingering scent of livestock but the barn is so quiet you’re sure you are completely alone. Lightning crackles and you see a brief layout of what’s in front of you. A few more steps and you would have stumbled over an old feeding trough. You wait, trembling _(was it from fear or being drenched?)_ until the next strike of lightning, and when you see the old, dry pile of hay you toss yourself into it as if it’d disappear the second you hesitated. It scratches your skin and stabs through the fabric of your t-shirt, but it was mostly dry, and relatively warm. _ _

__

__The blackness of the barn enveloped everything, and it wasn’t long before it enveloped your exhausted body as well._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kept writing like i promised! i had a serious lack of inspiration and massive bout of depression since moving because i've been quarantined and haven't seen anyone i care about in almost four months!!!! i'm starting to feel a little better though sorry for the wait everyone, i hope since this chapter is extra long it makes up for it a bit. 
> 
> i know where i want to go with the story, i have been doing a lot of Child's Play research to distract myself from the misery that is existing right now lol. hopefully it will be a fun ride and you guys'll enjoy it! thank you for sticking with me and reading! xo


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